I recently took a month’s long trip to Canada. It was a trip I had always wanted to take since I was a boy; to leave the old world and venture to the bastion of freedom that was the Americas. What I had always imagined was more the frontier feel of rural Texas, galloping around on horseback, rifle nestled in its holster on my back, and a very cool cowboy hat resting on my head. To get there, however, I had to traverse London.
I had never been to the capital and my brief route through it made me wish that was still the case. Any picturesque architecture and sense of Englishness had long since dissipated, with any vestige being represented by destitute Victorian buildings that might have seemed best suited to a Dickensian novel on poverty. In my mind, I had always envisioned the new occupants as occupiers. They entered the capital of my homeland and distorted it to its current perverse state. As I walked through its streets, I became more conscious of the fact that culture was absent there. I would have almost been happy to have encountered a mosque. What I saw was barren in a higher sense, it felt as if it had been sanitized of any sign of humanity. Its brutalist architecture made no one its host, and the alternative offerings were to commit to the obscene depravity of the excesses the GAE provides. It was to choose between veritable slums or objectively terrible statues celebrating homosexuality. It was a place one would likely say they died under before living in. The occupants were miserable, with only material decadence left for them. In less than two hours I understood completely the appeal of ISIS and wondered why Shamima Begum wanted to return at all. Surely no citizenship was better than being a citizen of this. The fear a native Englishman would feel entering the no-go zones took on a new aspect of melancholy. These new culture-bearers were almost preferable. Seeing an Arabic street sign was almost a futile effort. This wasn’t fresh and fertile land upon which they were creating a new civilization. They were worms living in the rotting corpse of another. By the time I had reached the airport, I could not have been happier to leave.
My visit did have that rural aspect I was looking for. In contrast to the carefully demarcated parcels of land that cover the English countryside, my birdseye view of Canada was a picturesque idyll of unconquered forest unmolested by human hands. The spirit of the land was distinctly different from anything I had known. By the time I had landed, I had romantic notions of leaving the old world permanently to find new opportunities in what seemed like largely untamed land. These sentiments faded in a few days, as the realities of a country run into the ground by bureaucracy acted effectively to crush any positive notions one might have. It was then that I noticed an absence. Something was different that I could not quite place. The landscape, although beautiful did not seem to strike me in the same way as the English countryside. The architecture of the small towns was off, even though it was affluent. The habits and traditions such as tipping for everything and the rhythm of conversation were offputting. Not once was I able to find a place to drink, which had an atmosphere that I was satisfied with.
When I finally did return after two months, and I entered my homeland, I could swear that the air did feel different. That was when it hit me. I was back in my homeland. The rolling fields, the feeling in the air, and carefully demarcated fields were mine to which my spirit was impossible to extricate. It may sound prosaic or as if it is a false Occam’s Razor, but I felt nothing like what I felt upon stepping back onto this soil- even knowing I was in London!
The idea of the Holy Mountain, I believe, is a topic that should be at the forefront of intellectual discussion in our sphere. The idea, in brief, is the need to hold some item or element in the physical world as sacrosanct; it can never be compromised. It is beyond rational discussion and enters the realm of irrational belief. It is something concrete that you are willing to die for, and that your group is oriented around. The utility of this means that it strengthens your movement or group, but to try and sell the Holy Mountain betrays its concept and purpose. It is above any rational meaning and therefore appeals to some transcendent and higher value. You must believe it. You must have faith.
It is understood that the Englishman, borne of England, and residing with his fellow English will produce a certain constant character. This may be explained in some organismic sense vis-a-vis Spengler, or through Evolution. In my understanding-what was the normative understanding throughout millennia before our current regime- the people who settled this land held a symbiotic relationship with it. Both people and places molded each other. In truth, it does not matter if the Cheddar man, which has had the wilder claims on his pigmentation recanted, was as Black as possible. The people in this country have evolved since him to something truly tailored and anchored spiritually to this land. An Anglo would never feel quite as relaxed, at home, and in tune with his surroundings as in the fields of God’s own country. Our biology -our physiognomy in its totality of both mental and physical faculties- is meant for only this place. The air doesn’t feel empty or stifling, and the fields are parcelled out in a common law fashion that he understands as moral intuitively.
To me, my Holy Mountain is these lands and, as a second-order consequence, its people. They are a living expression of their will. I think this is understood by anyone who has to witness the desiccation of their lands.The Cockney understands, if not articulated in this way, that something has changed when these other people imprint themselves in their homes. It is comparable to a stranger bursting in only to start rearranging the furniture. It is an imposition that betrays a mindset that they do not regard your home as yours. Luxury opinions of tolerance often fade away when it enters your backyard. I think then, that stirring these thoughts concretely and coherently can surpass any barriers the Overton’s window would impose, creating an existential and radical faith within the local population. The praxis of inciting this through localism is beyond the scope of this essay. I also am aware that this is not a novel notion, but its merit is that it is known to all at a base level. It is only the bludgeon of guilt over mid-century Germany which keeps it subdued.
That then leaves us with a final question concerning those who inhabit the new world. If the average White American-a mixture of several European heritages- is a new racial stock, then it is infantile. It has not been the product of millennia of adaptation to the land. Only the Meso-American could make that claim authentically. Moreover, a 1/64 X, 2/9th Y, and ⅓ Greek would struggle to fit in anywhere. I would argue that the American frontier may be conquered materially but is barren in bio-spirit. This transcendental culture needs to be cultivated and its frontier braved once again. The White American does not have some higher level of comfort and attunement compared to the Englishman would have, and one can see how rugged individualism became the philosophical recourse.
The White American must first concern himself with lower material conditions, such as the actual people in his tribe. He must safeguard his community from subversion, invasion, and genetic corruption. Having secured the tribe he wished to perpetuate, then he needs time; he needs centuries, even, to assimilate and become one with his environment in a process none of them will live to see. It has to be a faith derived from one’s being entirely, which is difficult, and embody something more solar. The American must first conquer before he can conserve.
Forging a tribe will also necessitate the consciousness of the tribe itself. One must understand that they represent something. It does not matter if the manifestation of your culture physically is mud huts, oral tradition, great literary works, or architectural feats. It does require the understanding that you are off a group, which rightfully demands from you duties and obligations. This means working- or at least the innate desire to work- towards that which you will never receive any material benefit from. An American grand tribal project might be the dispersal from the cities into the frontier, pasteurizing and forming the still empty spaces into somewhere one could embody an authentic American-ness. Perhaps then the symbiosis could occur to build something better than the bugman, and finally, fulfill that culture-bearing manifest destiny.
What would success look like for the creation of an American Race? It would be hard to concretely plan steps. The creation of authentic homogenous people typically stretches back from the modern world into myth. It would require a recognition of the land around you as the only place you could ever hold an affinity for. The people around you hold the same assumptions. These we already somewhat have under liberalism and are not complete criteria. We will only be certain that we have succeeded when the average American looks at his homeland and does not justify themselves by his ancestors in Europe. The Englishman does not find himself justified necessarily by a mythical exodus from Greece. The test, then, is for the American to identify the lands around him and, when asked, reply that he is a native. For this new race, simply that will be enough.